The Plane Ride of Death
by Izfish
Summary: Sherlock and John are on a plane for 8 hours. Pity those in aisle 12.
1. Chapter 1

She was a teenager to John. Just some random girl reading a children's book and sitting across the aisle on the plane that he and Sherlock were taking to Spain from the states, where there had been a round of kidnapping that Sherlock had been called to. In Spain there was supposed to be an Italian crime lord in hiding, and Mycroft had blackmailed his brother into looking for the man.

To Sherlock she was a 15-year-old exchange student going to Madrid. She was from the states, most likely Texas although he couldn't be sure. _Idiotic Americans, always moving and making their accents so annoyingly difficult to place._ She had 2 younger siblings, a brother aged 13 and a sister who was 7, maybe 8. She had a cat and 3 rabbits, and had scars on her arms somewhere, but due to the angle he was at and the relative looseness of her sleeves he couldn't tell exactly what they were from. She was obviously not as good at Spanish as she should have been, as she was struggling to read a book that seemed to be marketed to primary school students. _Typical_. Probably lesbian, or at least bisexual. There was nothing _really_ interesting about her. Onto the next, then.

Next to the American was a new mother. John felt sorry for her, having to deal with a baby on an 8 hour flight. The dad didn't seem very helpful, either.

Sherlock knew with a glance that 8 month-old Ariana, no, wait, _Ariel_ was not her _father_'s daughter. She was her mother's college roommate's brother's child. The stupid infant would not shut up. She just kept wailing and wailing. Silence came only when she ate or slept, which was sadly not a common occurence. Ugh, children. What monsters. He would never want one. Never.

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><p>It took John around 15 minutes to realize that Sherlock was staring at random other passengers. Never a good thing. He was pretty sure that disaster would strike very soon, in just a minute or-<p>

"May I see your arm?"

And there it was. Sherlock was asking the teenager one of his strange questions again. He would most likely publicly deduce everything about her, leaving the poor girl humiliated on an airplane surrounded by strangers. Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful.

The girl was staring at him, obviously caught off guard.

"Sherlock, stop," John hissed.

Sherlock ignored him.

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><p>Sherlock was bored. Very, very bored. He needed something to do. Figuring out where scars came from would be interesting. He had already deduced the stories behind John's scars (including one of the two on his upper thigh. Sadly John had woken up and started shouting at him about modesty before he could get a good look at the other), and the only one with any possibly interesting ones was the exchange student. So he asked to see them, like a polite person should.<p>

"May I see your arm?"

The girl's stare proved that it was self-harm. Sherlock ignored John's whispered warning and continued to stare back at her.

She finally responded, "Lo siento, um, no... no hablo ingles."

"Lie."

Her eyes widened, and she muttered what must have been a Spanish curse under her breath.

Really, she should have worked on her accent more before trying to pull that trick.

"You and I both know that you are fluent in English. You were speaking it all through take-off, and your accent shows that you're obviously from the States. Also, you were reading a children's book in Spanish, so obviously that is not your native language."

John had translated her curse for him, and was whispering it again and again, punctuated by the words "stop" and "idiot."

She was smarter than he'd given her credit for, she gave up the act.

"Yes, I'm from America. But what do you want to see my arm for? Seriously, why would you even ask that? Do you like have some weird fetish for arms?"

"No, I am just interested in where you got those scars from."

John punched him then. The former army doctor was far stronger than he looked, and Sherlock winced. The girl returned to her book, blushing.

"I fell off my bike," she muttered. An obvious lie, but his arm hurt too much to question her further.

And Sherlock was bored. AGAIN.

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><p>About an hour later the flight attendant came around to offer drinks for the 3rd time. John was asleep, and so Sherlock could do almost anything he wanted, except talk to the girl. He had tried immediately after John had drifted off, and had been told to "please shut the heck up and leave me alone." Ugh, Americans. So it was onto the young man who was serving a styrofoam cup of coffee to the screaming brat's mother.<p>

"How long have you and your wife been separated?"

The man spilled the coffee onto the mother and the girl, causing both of them to start cursing (one in French, one in a mixture of Spanish, German, Italian and English. The American was becoming more interested by the minute) and the baby to wail even louder. It was very irritating, and gave Sherlock the _brilliant_ idea of castrating John before he and one of his girlfriends (was it Lucy now?) could spawn one of the little demons.

"How did you know about my wife?!"

Ah, the flight attendant had finally collected his few thoughts well enough to form a coherent thought. Good for him. Now it was time to have some entertainment.

"Your wife, the one who left you one, maybe two months ago? Was it because of the drinking or the cheating? Or was it just that you couldn't satisfy her?"

The man (24 years old, born in the states but raised in France) scowled.

"That is private information. You don't need to know."

"It was the cheating, wasn't it?"

The man turned bright red, and began to pour a new cup of coffee and apologize to the woman and the girl. The woman said something cruel in rapid French before taking her coffee. The girl meanwhile rummaged in her backpack for a change of clothes, and when her driving permit fell out Sherlock finally saw her name. Mariana. He tucked that away in his mind palace for later use.

The attendant left, without even offering Sherlock a drink, and the girl went the opposite way, to the tiny compartments that they dared call bathrooms to change. She was soon followed by another pair, an 11 year old girl, also from the states, probably the northwestern corner. She was dragging a little boy along, maybe 5 years old. He was obviously her brother, and just like Ariel the baby, was crying about something that sounded like "You took my yegos an let Isa touch dem! You were thposed to pay yegos wif me!" Children truly were disgusting, and Sherlock just _knew_ that he had never been such a monster, no matter what Mycroft liked to say. The little girl ignored the brat and kept dragging him towards the bathroom.

The boredom returned.

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><p>By the time Mariana had returned, John had woken up and started playing some game on his phone that involved a small crisp with wings and eyes being propelled into the air when John tapped the screen. His high score was 9.<p>

The demon baby had finally learned the joys of silence, and Sherlock was dumping some information out of his mind palace. He no longer needed that junk about the sewer systems of Detroit.

Sadly, just when he thought he had peace, Ariel's mother and her husband started to argue loudly about some trivial matter like where their passports had gone (he could tell with one glance that they were in the diaper bag). Mariana had put in a pair of earbuds and was tapping her finger along to some song, almost definitely those disgraces to England, One Direction.

After a minute or two of bickering, Sherlock almost believed in karma and was praying to whoever would listen for silence. And then the little devil-spawn boy came back, being dragged back to his seat by his sister while he screamed and scratched her.

"BUD I CAND UTHE POTTY WIFOUT YOU OR MOMMY! YOU HAFTA HELP ME! IT'S DAWK IN DER AND SCARY AND THE ENDERMAN'S GUN GET ME!"

Sherlock felt a trace of pity for the girl.

"PHIA! YOU HAFTA HELP ME! I CAND GO BY MYSELF!"

He felt hatred towards the brat.

"YOU HAFTA PAY YEGOS WIF ME 10 MILLION BILLION INFINITY TIMES WHEN WE GET TO SPAIN CUZ OF DIS!"

The hatred and pity grew.

"PHIA!"

Another girl, this one about 13, came and started to help her sister drag the boy back.

"ISA! YOU HAFTA HELP ME TOO!"

This one was not as patient as her sister.

"Nick, be quiet! You're making a scene and being a brat! Just stop it!"

Her little sister sighed, this seemed to be a normal occurence for her.

"Y'know what? If you don't want to come then don't! Just stay here and cry! We don't have to help you! C'mon, Sophia!"

The younger girl sighed again.

"Isa, we shouldn't just leave him here..."

"Well he can get back himself, we're only like 4 aisles away!"

The girls left, leaving the monster in the aisle next to Sherlock.

And though he was a grown man who had faced many dangerous things in his lifetime, the detective felt a trace of fear.

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><p><strong>And that's it for chapter one!<strong>

**R&R for more chapters!**


	2. Chapter 2

The demonic little boy was still screaming. It had been 2 minutes since his sisters had left him. The infantile spawn of Satan had forgotten how nice it was to be quiet and had joined in the chorus of torture.

Sherlock was wondering how much it would hurt to jump out of the plane. According to the so-called "live map" of their flight, they were now over the Atlantic Ocean, and had only 3 1/2 more hours to go.

He didn't think that he could take it for that long.

John was not being helpful, either. He was wearing a nice pair of sound-blocking headphones and watching one of the awful free movies provided by the airline.

It surely wouldn't hurt that much to hit the ocean from a height of 30,000 feet, would it?

The cries of the brat were slowly getting quieter, but the baby was still going strong.

An emergency exit was only 6 aisles away, he could probably get there before John stopped him.

The monstrosity of a child was starting to wail again.

John would survive without him, he did just fine before they had lived together.

The creature was going on about the "yegos" and his "evil sisters."

Sherlock couldn't take it anymore.

He pressed the attendant call button.

After 3 minutes and 47 seconds, an attendant finally came. Sherlock was almost giddy with relief, until he realized who it was. Apparently the man had realized the same thing.

"Oh God, it's _you_. What do you want now?!"

The man, whose name tag said "Phil," apparently enjoyed stating the obvious.

"Remove the brat."

"What did you say?"

John, who had removed his earplugs as soon as Sherlock had begun speaking (as a cautionary measure) quietly groaned.

"Sherlock," John hissed, "Stop. Right now, before you-"

"I said, remove the brat. He's hurting my ears with his pathetic little display, and is causing me to consider hurling myself out of the plane."

Phil was not amused.

"Why should I? You can do it yourself. He can't weigh more than 3 stone or so."

"You're the flight attendant. Isn't it your job to make sure that I, the passenger, am happy?"

"True, but I'm not required to ignore public humiliation. Deal with the boy yourself."

The Satanic little boy had quieted his tantrum to loud sobs. It truly was pathetic.

"I will not deal with this- this _thing_ by myself!"

The monster was slowly becoming quieter, and was now listening to the men argue while sucking his thumb.

Eventually, it decided to speak.

"You guys talk funny."

There was dead silence as Sherlock and Phil slowly turned to look at the boy. Even Ariel stopped her piteous cries. The only sound was the couple in front of them snogging and Mariana snickering.

"Did you just call my accent _funny_?! I was born in the US, I learned English from a very young age, and I do not have an accent!"

"English is supposed to be spoken this way! You Americans just do everything wrong!"

Mariana stopped her laughter at that comment.

"Actually, Americans speak the way English people originally did, it's just that the British starting speaking with what we now call an English accent in the 18th or 19th century to sound fancy."

Apparently she wasn't as bad at trivia as she was at Spanish.

"See? We're better cuz we don't... um... impress people like England!"

Sherlock was sure that the stupidity on the plane was slowly killing him.

John was sure that someone was going to get hurt.

"Your vocabulary is pathetic. England impresses people, and that is a compliment to the Queen and country. However, we do not oppress people, as I am sure you were trying to imply."

John was right, as the little boy began scratching Sherlock and crying again.

"I KNOW ALL THE WORDS! I KNOW EVYTHING!"

Phil decided that it was the perfect time to make his retreat, and returned to his seat with his nice copy of "How to Deal with Idiots."

Luckily for Sherlock, one of the monster's sisters came back then, and dragged the demon back to his mother, apologizing quietly.

He hated Americans, he really did.

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><p><strong>Hi! Sorry for the short chapter, I've had the evil creature known as school attempting to eat me.<strong>

**R&R, and I'll update as soon as I can.**


	3. Chapter 3

The pain was finally over. They had landed in London without any serious injuries, and were on their way home.

Sherlock was never going on a plane again.

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><p><strong>Sorry for the abrupt ending, but I just wanted to finish it off. <strong>


End file.
